


Only Fire

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anger & Rage, Dagor Bragollach, Gen, Last words, POV Outsider, impending character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 02:50:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8731948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Just before riding off to challenge Morgoth, Fingolfin visits the place where Fëanor died.





	

Halfway up the pass over the mountains of Eithel Sirion, a white stone is all that marks the scene of Fëanor's death. The ground had once been scorched and burnt, but the grass has grown back, and now it is a simple place in a quiet forest. It is said that although the eyes of the Elves can look across the plain that was once Ard-Galen and behold the towering height of Thangorodrim from there, Men cannot see so far. 

On the day of my tale, Ard-Galen had only just ceased burning. The snow came late that year, too late to douse the flames of Morgoth, too late to stop the dragon. 

I was there near the white stone, where a tree made a good vantage point. From its branches, I kept watch over the burned and blackened plain. We still feared attack, and my eyes have ever been one of my best features. 

On that fateful day, snow lay at last peaceful and white over the land, covering the ruin of our sweet meadow grass. Here and there black shapes lay - our unburied dead, Elves, Men, and animals, all of whom we could not save. 

It was near midday and all was still, when a white horse, instantly recognisable, appeared from the fortress, making his way up the mountain path toward the quiet grave. The figure on his back was just as familiar to my eyes, and it was no surprise to see my lord Fingolfin, arrayed in armour as for battle, on the back of his famed horse Rochallor, coming to visit the place of his estranged brother's final breath. 

Beside the white stone, he dismounted, and bending laid a hand on it, as if laying a hand over that of his fiery lost brother. The words he spoke then, low and fierce, have been graven in my mind, and though the world itself shall come to dust and all shall perish in flame, those words will remain in my memory and in my heart. 

This is what the High King Fingolfin said to his brother, the last person he spoke to save the Dark Enemy himself, before he died: 

_"We became complacent, brother. We forgot there was a war; we thought peace would remain peace, that we had contained the threat, even if we had not destroyed it._

_Behind the walls of Angband, our Enemy was building new weapons. Our Enemy was building dragons, and trolls and hardier Orcs, and his Balrogs were gaining strength. Wolves have been seen in the wilderness._

_And fire raged through the plain. Fire raged and burnt all the sweet green grass. Our horses - the horses you brought - are decimated, their herds scattered. Our food sources have been reduced to a mere tenth of what they once were. Our land is broken. Many among Men will starve and die - those who were not caught up in the fires. I have heard tell that all the great lords of Men in Dorthonion have fought down to the last few, and all the great women of the House of Bëor have fled to Hithlum and Brethil._

_Our watchtowers on Angband have fallen, and with them our bright nephews, who I have ever loved, and who I promised I would watch over._

_I have no recourse. I cannot spare this. I cannot overlook it._

_When Arakáno died, I knew that pain would attend every step of my feet in Beleriand. I would never be free of it. The awful cost of the Helcaraxë, the unthinkable loss of my youngest - I knew not whether to curse your name loudest or my own._

_Grief has haunted my steps. My daughter - my bright Aredhel, heedless, wilful - when I learned of her death, my heart grew cold, as if winter had come upon me. My son, my Turgon, thoughtful, stubborn boy - like his father - just as much lost to me as if he were indeed dead._

_Only my eldest remains by my side, and Fingon's faithfulness is as a beacon in the darkness. I must, in reward, burden him with all my cares._

_I must answer fire with fire, and blood for blood. There can be no more hiding, no more peace. Victory or defeat, we must wager all now and hold nothing back, for surely our Enemy will hold nothing back in his hate for us, in his desire to destroy us or enslave us. We must stand up! We must make him regret that ever he challenged us._

_Let me be the first. Fill me now with your fire, Fëanáro, for to the fire we have come at last, and it is fire that rages now inside my heart."_

The King raised his head as he finished speaking, and I could see his eyes. I hid my own then, for in them was a light I had never seen before, a fire that burned so bright that I was afraid. When I looked up again, a small figure on a white horse was flying over the plain, burning like a falling star, as if he was no longer King, no longer Elven, no longer Fingolfin, but only fire. 


End file.
